


When She Wakes Up

by fetts_vette



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars - Expanded Universe, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Boba Fett Being Cute with a Baby, Brief Mention of Parental Death, Buir!Boba, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Mentions of Pregnancy, Mentions of childbirth, Sintas and Boba and Ailyn Deserved So Much Better, Teen Pregnancy, help me I'm feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29406639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fetts_vette/pseuds/fetts_vette
Summary: Fatherhood was never something Boba Fett had envisioned for himself, nor had he particularly wanted any part in it. That all changed when he met his daughter for the first time.
Relationships: Boba Fett & Sintas Vel (mentioned only), Boba Fett/Sintas Vel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	When She Wakes Up

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to try my hand at writing a fluff piece about Bo and his baby. I’m rereading the Legacy of the Force series and… Boba Fett having a daughter still makes me feel very soft after all these years, okay? It’s been established in Legends that he and Ailyn had a very volatile relationship later in life, but I’ve always been curious about what their father/daughter bond may have been like when she was first born, before things went to shit. Just… imagine big, scary, tough Boba Fett cradling a teensy newborn. My uterus yearns for it. So… here ya go. Enjoy!
> 
> Also - just as a precaution, I have specified this fic as including an implied underage sexual relationship, since Boba was sixteen and Sintas was eighteen at the time of Ailyn’s birth, and the age of consent varies globally. Better to be safe concerning this type of content in that regard. Thanks!

Mando’a terminology

  * _ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya_ \- ‘train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger’
  * _ba’buir_ \- grandfather
  * _bu’ad_ \- grandchild
  * _buir_ \- father
  * _ad’ika_ \- daughter/little one
  * _kov’nyn_ \- headbutt/forehead press



-

_“I slipped on myself,_

_no help from anyone else_

_I fell in love_

_And I was humbled_

_There she is_

_Isn't she everything?”_

_-_ 'There She Is,' Frank Turner

-

She was so kriffing _small._

Boba didn’t think he’d ever seen another human being this tiny, this helpless. 

Not that he’d been around very many babies in his lifetime. 

There had been the infant clones on Kamino during his childhood, of course, but his father had never let him stray too close to the lab facilities. Not that he’d wanted to, anyway. The rows and rows of little bodies, floating suspended in translucent goo, as well as the hundreds upon thousands of children that shared his face, and the men who shared his father’s, had always scared him a bit. 

Boba Fett didn’t consider himself to be someone who often felt fear. He could count the times on one hand, most of them occurring during his earliest years, instances of cautiously peering around his father’s leg at strange visitors or waking from imagined terrors in the night, wailing for Jango to come to his rescue from the other room.

But he’d never felt as scared as he did in this moment, right now, gazing down upon this little pink-hued creature wrapped in a blanket of nerf-wool, fast asleep and dreaming. His _daughter_.

He hadn’t even been this terrified when Sintas had first told him that she was with child, _his_ child, nor when she’d begun to experience violent bouts of nausea every morning, nor when her belly had begun to tellingly swell beneath her clothing. Boba had felt strangely detached from the situation for the entire nine months of the pregnancy, and it was only in hindsight that he realized he had been _afraid._ He and Sin had only been married a year - barely knew each other, really - and they were both so young. _So_ young. They were hardly more than children themselves. And now they were responsible for another life, this fragile creature curled in a plastene bassinet, gently tinkling mobile of miniature stars and planets hanging overhead.

Sin had said that the name ‘Ailyn’ meant ‘graceful.’ She couldn’t remember in what language, but she’d seen it in a mothering book somewhere, some sickeningly sweet maternal tome she had browsed through in a secondhand shop in town. The child - a little girl, they’d discovered - would take her surname, ‘Vel.’ Boba hadn’t protested when Sintas had made the announcement - yes, that’s what it had been, she hadn’t even asked his opinion - nor had he questioned the decision. It would be safer for the baby, Sin had elaborated, and Boba had agreed. Yes, the baby’s safety. _Our_ baby. Although his wife was just as involved in the bounty hunting trade as he was, Boba had already made quite the name for himself, at only sixteen. He had enemies, heartless barves who wouldn’t hesitate to harm an innocent infant solely to exact their revenge. One of the reasons he’d settled down on Concord Dawn in the first place was to escape that unforgiving life, and bestowing the decidedly infamous name of ‘Fett’ upon a defenseless babe was no way to honor that choice. 

So ‘Ailyn Vel’ came to be.

Boba hadn’t been there for the birth. He’d been on duty with his fellow Journeymen, out in the middle of nowhere keeping watch over one of the many agricultural sectors that had fallen victim to pirates as of late. His comlink had crackled to life as he and the squadron under his command had been patrolling the bush, the superior officer on the dispensing end ordering him to get back to base at once; his wife had gone into labor, and it wouldn’t be long now before he became a father. A _father_. His comrades had congratulated him, pounded him on the back and wished him well.

_‘Ke barjurir gar’ade, jagyc’ade kot’la a dalyc’ade kotla’shya!’_ one of his fellows had shouted at him as he roared past on the speeder bike that would take him back into the city. ‘Train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger!’ 

Boba wondered if he was strong enough to raise a daughter, let alone train one.

By the time Boba had arrived at the medcenter, Sin had already given birth. He’d missed it by several hours. The child was healthy, robust, had been squalling like a Kowakian monkey-lizard and waving her tiny fists in the air, seeming almost enraged at having been unceremoniously evicted from her dark, warm home - or so the attending medical droid had claimed. The machine had greeted him in the hall outside of the center’s maternity ward, already aware that he was the husband, _the_ _father_ ; whether it was due to information that had been provided upon Sin’s admittance, or because of his noticeably frazzled state when he’d arrived - drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, helmet tucked precariously under his arm - he couldn’t be sure.

Sintas hadn’t stopped bleeding afterwards, the droid had told him, and several medics had to intervene. Sensing Boba’s rising panic, his urge to smash its hydraulics against the wall and force his way into the birthing room beyond, the droid had clarified that she was fine now, recuperating comfortably, but that it was unwise for her to receive visitors at the moment. Yes, that included the husband, but he would be allowed to go in soon. The newborn girl, however, had been whisked away to the medcenter’s nursery to be poked and prodded by the maternity droids, to be bathed and swaddled and left to rest until it was time to be brought back to her mother.

And there Boba found himself, standing in the otherwise empty nursery, gazing at this prone form tucked away in a sterile cradle, sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the man peering down at her. Boba allowed himself to exhale a shaky breath. His daughter. _Ailyn._

“Would you like to hold her, Master Fett?” 

The metallic voice’s inquiring tone jerked him out of his dazed stupor. The droid stood at his side, searching his face with an uncanny mechanical imitation of human compassion. At first Boba stared, not quite understanding what the droid meant, until it stooped and lifted the baby from her cot, holding the swathed infant out to him. 

Boba had never held a baby before, and had no idea how to proceed. The droid had anticipated this and shuffled forward, holding the newborn in the crook of one durasteel arm, guiding Boba’s hands - his rough Journeyman’s gloves having been stuffed haphazardly into a pouch in his flight suit - into the proper positioning with its other.

“Support the head; the muscles in the neck are underdeveloped at this early stage of life. Keep one arm under the body, and the back must be kept straight - raise the infant level to your chest, like so. I shall leave you with her momentarily while I confer with our staff on the mother’s condition. Please wait here.” 

And suddenly, Boba was alone in the room, his daughter in his arms. Ailyn snuffled at the sudden change of positioning, the sensation of soft human touch versus the cold alloy of the nurse droid. Boba gave a start, expecting her to start shrieking, but she simply let out a soft coo and turned her head to the side, closer to her father, drawn to the warmth radiating from his body. The newborn was small yet compact, a tuft of downy black hair already present atop her head, long lashes framing eyes still tightly squeezed shut, pouty lips pursed, dreaming milk dreams. 

Boba stroked the side of a finger along the infant’s rosy cheek, downwards from her closed eyes to the soft bow of her mouth. Soon the little face would be marked on each side by distinct tattoos, three dark stripes arching across her skin, the _qukuuf_ of the Kiffar - her mother’s people. Ailyn already bore the shape of Sin’s face, the high cheekbones and sharp chin. Her nose, however, was a perfect copy of his own - the bridge flattened, and slightly upturned at its tip. Boba found himself musing if this child would also inherit his Concordian accent, the same one he’d acquired from his father. A fierce ache lit a fire in his chest at that thought, and he wished Jango had not been so brutally cut down in his prime, that he could have met his son’s own little one, that he had lived to see himself become a _ba’buir,_ with a _bu’ad_ to fawn over and spoil endlessly _._ He briefly wondered if this very moment had possibly been mirrored sixteen years prior, between his father and newborn self. Had Jango Fett been nervous before being presented with his baby son, needed help learning to cradle him, worried that he wouldn’t be a good father? Boba found the idea strangely comforting. Shifting his hold on the baby gingerly, Boba hesitantly reached one digit out to poke at a little fist that had freed itself from its swaddlings. He couldn’t believe how _tiny_ the fingers were, curled over as if in deep concentration - the little knuckles, the miniscule fingernails. It was while studying these details, perfect miniatures of his own hands, Boba heard a sniffling grunt, and flicked his view to the baby’s face.

Her eyes were open.

They were her mother’s eyes, Sin’s eyes, bright blue and already alert, and Ailyn was studying him intensely. Slowly, almost as if she was experimenting with the newfound use of her hands, she reached out and grasped Boba’s index finger, clutching with surprising strength for such a small creature, and she blinked up at him slowly. 

Boba’s heart seemed to momentarily stop, and his vision instantly blurred over with hot tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, was beginning to think it was no longer within his capabilities. After a moment, he spoke, and he was surprised at the level of emotion in his voice.

“Hello, Ailyn… I’m your _buir_. I’m going to take care of you. I won’t _ever_ let anything happen to you, I _promise_ you that. I swear it on my life, my _ad’ika_.”

Boba bent to press his lips to the crown of her head, taking in the sweet, clean smell that only newborns seemed to carry. Not wanting to relinquish this feeling just yet, he touched his forehead to hers in a gentle _kov’nyn_ , choosing not to notice the tears that had soaked into the baby’s blanket as he closed his eyes in pure paternal indulgence.

“Master Fett?”

Boba turned at the call, Ailyn cradled in his arms, to regard the medical droid standing in the doorway. He didn’t know how long it had been there, silently observing him and his daughter, but he found that he didn’t really care. He hastily wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand before readjusting his hold on Ailyn, wordlessly regarding the machine.

“My apologies, Master Fett, but I’ve just been informed that Mistress Vel is awake and well enough to receive visitors. I can take you both to her now, if you wish.” The droid offered, extending its arm and bobbling its head subserviently. 

Boba looked down at Ailyn - her eyes were shut again, his finger still enclosed within that tiny fist. He had only just met his daughter, but he already knew he would do anything she asked of him, gladly give up his life for her. Was this what fatherhood meant? Was this how his own _buir_ had felt upon being presented with his son, so long ago in Tipoca City? Not taking his eyes off his newborn daughter, Boba nodded silently, and stepped forward to let the droid escort him down the hall, where Sin - his wife, the mother of his child - awaited them.

There was still much that Boba Fett didn’t know about Sintas Vel - their courtship and subsequent marriage had been a whirlwind, and _stars_ … now they were _parents_ \- but he knew that she was beautiful, and a crack shot with a blaster, and that he trusted her at a time in his life where he thought he could only trust himself. And he knew that he loved her, and that he loved Ailyn, this incredible new life that they had created together. 

Perhaps that was more than enough.


End file.
